


thinking too much

by scaredybear



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaredybear/pseuds/scaredybear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's past midnight. They're both still up. Dana comes up with the brilliant idea of going to 7-Eleven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thinking too much

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing for this fandom, and after a particularly long dry spell where i didn't write. any concrit is welcome!
> 
> i wrote this fic based on an idea [nipponiwazaru](nipponiwazaru.tumblr.com) came up with. they were kind enough to let me run with it, and this is the result. please check out their meta, it's so well-written and put together rather smartly. :>

Long shadows crossed the ceiling of her room, moonlight filtering in weakly through the window at the head of her bed. Sleep had been a fickle bitch to Dana lately—this night being no exception—mind unwilling to shut the fuck up for a blessed second. Thoughts tumbled over and over in a kaleidoscope of images, a swirling mass of things she’d rather forget. Just past eleven in the evening, and Dana gave up trying to sleep an hour ago, regardless of the alarm set for six in the morning.

She swings her feet over the edge of the bed and pads over to her laptop, finds herself mindlessly surfing Facebook for want of anything better to do. Reading might have been the better choice, even homework. Neither appealed to her. Scrolling through the same posts multiple times was easier than the level of concentration reading or working required.

The mindlessness of the task did little to quell the riot in her mind. If anything, it made it louder, more persistent. The last couple of weeks had been, for lack of a better word, shitty. Blackwell and its students were still recovering from the shock waves of Nathan and Jefferson’s arrests. Chloe Price’s murder had Max stumbling about the hallways in a worrying stupor (“We… we were close.” She said to Dana, and quiet out of the blue.), and Kate refused to go home, despite the stern warning of her parents. Despite how much Blackwell must have reminded her of what could have been. What almost happened. (Too close to the edge, and sometimes it seemed like she still straddled it.)

As much as she tried not to, it grew impossible not to compare her own issues in light of what Max and Kate were going through—even Victoria; Dana knew she and Nathan were close. Now he rotted in jail for the murder of a girl Dana considered a friend, while Victoria was left to make sense of it all.

Suddenly, Logan and her abortion became insignificant. Like her problems weren’t really problems at all, just silly little things she blew out of proportion, dwarfed by the depression and loss and flirtations with disaster that followed her friends like a haze.

Concepts all but foreign to Dana, really. 

Any desire to read the same posts for the fourth time soured. Laying in bed awake started to seem like a better alternative. Even if that meant drowning in her sea of thoughts again.

She had her hand on the lid of the laptop, ready to close it when she notices Kate online. Weird. Out of curiosity, she checks the time: 12:20 am. Kate and Dana were the type of people to go to bed early and rise at dawn—seeing her online at this hour makes concern sit heavy in the pit of her stomach. 

Or she might just be working on an assignment for class. Unlike Dana. A voice in the back of her head reminds her that Kate makes a point not to be on Facebook when she’s working. How many times has she gently scolded her for scrolling through her feed during study sessions?

Dana hesitates before clicking on Kate’s name and typing in a message.

 _Are you okay?_ No preamble. No, ‘hey, what’s up?’. Whatever doubts raged in her mind at that point stilled in the face of her nagging worry.

Kate’s reply comes almost five minutes later, and she almost starts at the sound. With a flush of embarrassment, she realizes she’d been staring at the screen rather blankly.

_Just thinking too much._

Dana reads the message a couple of times, trying, and failing, to interpret what Kate means by something so vague. ‘Just thinking too much’ could mean anything. It’s too ambiguous, ominous, even, for her to brush off casually.

 _About what?_ She hedges, unsure if she’s crossing a line. A speech bubble pops up at the tail end of the messages.

After a week of radio silence and awkward glances in the hallway, they’ve just started talking again. (Dana hates recalling the conversation that bridged the gap between them, or the drunken text that started it; how messy and embarrassing it all was.) The last thing she wants to do is invade Kate’s boundaries. She’s already done a fine job of shitting all over their friendship, and she’s in no mood for repeat performances. Though, god, she had her reasons. Dealing with her pregnancy alone didn’t leave much room for her to care for Kate, too. 

The speech bubble fades in and out of existence, an active measure of how much Kate is deliberating on what to say. Or, if she should say anything at all. Eventually, it disappears altogether.

Without thinking, Dana types in _Wanna go for a walk?_ and jabs the enter key.

It’s 12:35 now, but she knows a safe route to the 7-Eleven just down the street. It’s about a fifteen minute walk there. Dana doesn’t even wait for Kate’s response, grabs her jacket—some hideous, neon green thing she wears for her morning jogs—hanging off the dresser and begins to shrug it on as she’s leaving.

The girl’s dormitories lay blanketed in an eerie darkness, everyone else presumably asleep if the dead silence is anything to go by. Down the hall, the door to Kate’s room opens. She peeks her head out, then the rest of her follows. Light spills out into the hallway in yellow stripes, casting Kate in an ethereal glow, crown of her head ignited in gold.

Dana crosses over to her, grimacing with each slap her sandals make against the soles of her feet. The sound is unbearably loud in the stillness, and she swears she can hear Stella move from behind her door.

Kate stands in the doorway with a questioning look on her face, arms wrapped around her torso. She’s dressed in a matching pajama set adorned with cartoon cats. It’s a size too big. And _of course_ her hair is collected in a bun, though it’s messy, as if she hastily put it back up at Dana’s impromptu suggestion. It occurs to her then that she’s never seen Kate with her hair down before.

But she looks so small, with bags under her watery eyes. Dana fights the urge to tuck the stray curls behind her ears, to wrap her up in a hug; occupies her hands by shoving them into her pockets instead. And does a good job of not letting her mind linger on the reasons why she looks ready to break.

“It’s after midnight.” Kate states simply, like Dana wasn’t aware of that fact. “Where would we even go?”

“There’s a 7-Eleven down the street. I’m thinking late night slurpees.” A dopey grin spreads across her face in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. “I would put on a jacket, though.”

A twitch of her lips, some half-smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, is all Dana gets for an answer. Silence stretches between them after that, bordering on awkward. Dana is about to speak again when Kate shatters the quiet.

“Okay,” she relents, glancing away. Her shoulders slump in a curious gesture of defeat or exhaustion. “just give me a second.” She closes the door. 

A moment later, Kate emerges wearing the thin black cardigan she usually does, and a pair of grey slip-ons.

“Are you going to be warm enough in that?” Dana tugs at the hem of it, only to have her hand batted away playfully. She meant the question, though.

“It’s not the middle of winter. I’ll be fine, mom.” She even rolls her eyes for good measure before resting her hand in the crook of Dana’s elbow, leading her away from the wall and to the exit. Despite the banter, she can’t shake the feeling that something’s bothering Kate.

They make as little sound as possible when they leave, Kate removing her hand from her elbow when they enter the courtyard proper.

Cold November air seeps straight into her bones, making her tug her jacket closer to herself. How Kate is warm in that paper-thin sweater of hers is a mystery. 

_Could be a side-effect of her medication._ Dana immediately scolds herself for the thought. Objectively, she doesn’t know what Kate’s taking, just that she’s on something; Kate admitted as much, omitting details, and Dana didn’t push her for information she clearly wasn’t comfortable sharing.

(And she recalls how embarrassed she became. “Mom doesn’t like me taking it. She thinks I’m being weak and not trusting God enough to help me.” Dana grew so livid at her mom’s insinuation, that Kate needed only prayer and faith to mend her mental illness, not support or medication.)

Night casts the courtyard in shadows, with the darkness making it come alive with a certain kind of energy. Off in the distance, the eerie silhouette of the Tobanga totem stands guard. Dana’s gaze does not linger long on it, shuddering under the weight of its judgement.

The pathway is poorly lit, but it’s not the first time Dana’s decided to go on a late walk (always with someone else, usually Juliet) and Kate seems content to let her lead. 

“I’m not used to seeing you with your hair down. It’s nice.” She shoots Dana a sideways glance from under a fringe of hair that refuses to stay out of her face. Dana’s fingers twitch with the compulsion to brush it out of her eyes. 

Ahead of them, the near-empty parking lot looms on the horizon. Only Samuel’s beat-up truck rests there, a rusting sentinel.

“It’s easier to jog or swim when its out of my face.” A non-committal shrug hides the blush that creeps up her neck. Dana silently thanks the dark for making it that much harder to see.

Truthfully, she’s a girl that doesn’t know what to do with her hair besides wear it up in a pony, or down. Juliet had attempted to teach her how to slip her hair in a bun, before deciding that it wasn’t the right length or thickness, and promptly giving up. At least she can apply make-up with some degree of skill in lieu of her boring hairstyles.

“So,” Kate’s voice drags her from her thoughts. “we know why I’m up. But why are you?” A faint smile twists her mouth. Dana notes how it still doesn’t reach her eyes, not quite. The undercurrent of tension in Kate troubles Dana, but she doesn’t trust her judgement. She doesn’t trust herself not to assume things, or make the whole situation out to be worse than it really is. For all she knows, Kate could be suffering from allergies, nothing more. The notion almost makes her laugh.

“Couldn’t sleep, I guess.” She hops over the curb and onto the cracked asphalt of Blackwell’s parking lot. She doesn’t want to admit the thoughts that kept her up, how she compares herself to Kate, and Max; doesn’t want to acknowledge how much “That Week” fucked her up. She still thinks about the abortion, wonders if she made the right choice. Logan tells her that she did, that Dana thinking of her future wasn’t selfish. 

It’s hard to believe him. Not when her aborting the fetus (no, a baby, _the baby_ ) absolved him of responsibility and teenage fatherhood. What did he ever stand to lose? Nothing, she thinks, absolutely nothing.

“How come?” Unlike her, Kate picks her way carefully over the curb. She doesn’t know about her pregnancy or subsequent abortion, and the guilt of not telling her is sometimes a little overwhelming. Dana manages to swallow it down all the same. Like she does now, for instance.

“Just thinking too much,” The humour in her tone hides the remorse well. She pokes Kate with an elbow when she draws near. “like you.” This time, the smile reaches her eyes. The sight is infectious, and lovely; a beacon in the dark, a bolt of rope in a surging sea. Something for her to hold on to. The storm in Dana’s head quiets, for a moment.

She leads them off the campus, and onto the street. Up ahead, the headlights of a car grow closer, passing them at what appears to be fifteen miles under the speed limit. 

“Fresh air is often good for clearing your mind, don’t you think?” Kate inches closer to Dana, eyes trained on some middle ground in front of them. Dana just shrugs. Every time their hands brush, she pretends not to notice. She forces herself to be content with the companionable silence that falls over them. 

For a while, she is. For a while, she’s happy just to have Kate’s company.

They pass sleeping homes, keeping close when cars go by. When she spots 7-Eleven peeking around the corner of the street, she gathers the courage to talk again.

“You know,” She runs a hand through her hair, words dying in her throat. (Don’t be stupid, she thinks, don’t be nosy.) “I’m not trying to—to pry or anything, but if you want to talk, I—well, I’m here.” The words are clumsy, rushed things that trip over each other on the way out. 

(She feels stupid. And nosy.)

“Is that why you asked me to come with you?” Kate doesn’t spare Dana a glance, determined in her staring contest with the horizon. Her profile grows soft, thoughtful, as she considers something. The streetlamps cut harsh planes of darkness on her face, making it appear sharper, gaunt.

“Seriously though, are you alright?” Dana nudges her with her shoulder.

Finally, Kate breaks away, looks at Dana like she’s grown a second head, looks at her as if to say: _‘why wouldn’t I be?’_ , or _‘why are you asking such a question?’_ , even _‘Dana, are_ you _feeling alright?’_ But she chuckles, high and saccharine, and any regret she might have felt evaporates at the sound of it.

“You’re sweet, Dana.” Her fingers find Dana’s hand, give it a squeeze before letting go. “I’m better than I have been in a long time. It’s just a rough night, I promise.”

Then a moment later, “I didn’t mean to worry you, I’m sorry.” Her gaze is focused on the scuffed toe of her slip-ons, brow curiously furrowed. Deep in thought. And its just such a Kate thing to do, to fret over other people despite having reason to be selfish, to apologize for being human. It’s frustrating and sad all at once. 

“You don’t have to apologize, Kate, I mean—“

“I know, bless you.” She cuts her off, but not unkindly. The gentleness in her words soothe any hurt the interjection might have caused. The tension Dana convinced herself was there earlier is missing. She decides to trust Kate, and drops the topic. 

The girls wander across the empty road and onto the parking lot hugging the store’s left wall. Two cars sit on either end, one of them clearly belonging to whomever works the night shift.

7-Eleven’s ostentatious sign shines on in all its fluorescent glory, bathing them in garish colour. Her neon jacket grows more obnoxious under it.  
The doorbell chimes as Dana elbows her way in, Kate following close behind. A bearded man sits slack-jawed at the cash register, inclining his head a quarter of an inch by way of greeting. His name tag reads: _Hello-my-name-is-Earl_.

They head to the back of the store, away from _Hello-my-name-is-Earl_ , towards the slurpee machine and ice cream. The machine churns with a low hum. 

“Are you sure about that slushie?” Kate asks, eyeing the flavours. Most of them happily declare the addition of caffeine. “It’s rather late.” Meaning, _Dana please don’t ingest such liquids at this hour._ Meaning, _you’ll never sleep at this rate if you go through with this._

“Slurpee, and yes. They taste better after midnight—its magic.” She declares, grabbing a cup. She deliberates on which flavour to choose before mixing all of them into a blend of banana-orange-sprite-coke-cherry & vanilla (she misses the small look of disgust that crosses Kate’s face). 

“I somehow doubt that.” Kate bumps her with a shoulder, grabbing a lid and straw. Their fingers brush when she passes it over. Not taking the hint, Dana grabs another straw.

“Don’t knock it before you try it.” She taps her on the nose with the straw in her hand, Kate flinching at the contact. The tiny ‘boop’ Dana adds after the fact has Kate giggling, hissing her name in a manner meant to be threatening though it’s anything but. Dana attempts to tap her nose a second time, but Kate ducks out of the way and scurries around the ice cream cooler. She sticks her tongue out.

“Now that’s just rude.” Dana points the green straw at her accusingly. If it wasn’t wrapped in plastic, she’d use the packaging as a projectile. Kate disappears around the aisle of beef jerky and congealed pastries, bun bobbing on the back of her head. 

The conversation they had during the walk there seems so long ago, an unpleasant memory fading around the edges. It’s easy to pretend it didn’t happen, that Dana hadn’t worried after Kate needlessly. (Or, if something is wrong, she doesn’t say. Dana won’t let herself linger on that thought.)

Dana weaves around the cooler, joining Kate at the aisle of odds and ends that seem to be in every 7-Eleven. She sips from her drink, scanning the assortment of items. Beside her, Kate pokes at a package of Bic pens. The melting slurpee makes her hand hurt from the cold, and she has to switch it to the other one. Dana’s attention is seized by a deep red can that sits at the top of the rack. She grabs it.

“Hey, want ten dollar bug spray?” She turns the can around in her hand, surprised at its heft. She’s not sure how heavy she expected bug spray to be. _Raid_ , the can reads, _Kills bugs dead!_ The redundancy would’ve drove Juliet up the wall. 

“We should get it for Max. Warren might let her breathe.” She mumbles, preoccupied with a map of Oregon stashed among all the other overpriced items no one wants at a 7-Eleven slash gas station. She decides to unfold it completely. Roads and circuitous freeways block her from view. Dana gapes at her, at where she would be, if the state of Oregon hadn’t consumed the space.

Ever since Chloe’s funeral, Warren has practically handcuffed himself to the poor girl. Personal space clearly isn’t one of his strong suits, even if his heart is in the right place. Supposedly. Lately, Dana’s been doubting how chivalrous his intentions are.

Paper crinkles as Kate struggles with her mistake, their eyes meeting over the edge of the map. Dana snorts before collapsing into laughter. _Hello-my-name-is-Earl_ shoots her a glare from his perch besides the entrance, and she composes herself rather poorly. She puts the bug spray back, busying herself with the dizzying array of dusty citronella candles and condoms instead. The weight of his eyes bore a hole in her back.

“That was mean.” Kate admits, biting her bottom lip. She’s holding back her laughter much better than Dana. She tucks the (messily folded) map back in place, pats it when it refuses to stay. It topples out, unfurling at her feet in a rumpled mess. With a roll of her eyes, she hands Kate her drink.

“And true.” Dana adds unhelpfully, bending down and gathering the map into her hands. The condensation from her drink has the pages sticking to her fingers. Her attempts of putting it back together prove to be a moot point. They’ll have to buy it now; she can tell by the way _Hello-my-name-is-Earl_ continues to glare at her. 

“So we split the cost.” She reaches past Dana and takes the bug spray off the shelf again, glancing from the can to her. 

“Oh my god.” Dana stops fussing over the map, silently admitting it’s a lost cause. She stares at Kate, incredulous. She’s serious. She’s serious about the bug spray, about giving it to Max as gag. Even at Warren’s expense. There’s no cruelty in her intentions, though. If anything, Warren might end up finding it funny, too. For a sensitive boy, he can be pretty good-natured.

“It’ll make her laugh; I know it will.” Kate is so sincere, it’s hard to say no. Not that Dana planned to. Seeing Max smile again is something she finds herself wishing for dearly. She could use a joke.

“You’ve convinced me.”

“I’ll make a card, too.”

“With lots of little deer on it, right?”

“Of course.” Kate tugs Dana to the counter, where they pay for the bug spray, sopping drink and map. _Hello-my-name-is-Earl_ does not wish them a good night. The doorbell rings again on their way out.

The walk back to Blackwell is mostly quiet, punctuated by low conversation every so often. Dana offers Kate a sip from the slurpee, which she politely refuses, commenting on how she and caffeine ‘don’t get along’. (A bald-faced lie, if anything, what with the way Kate consumes tea by the kettle.) 

Kate reaches for her hand and holds it, thumb brushing over her knuckles idly. This time, she does not let go. Dana draws closer to her.

When they reach the parking lot, Dana balances on a curb like a tight rope walker, empty cup in hand. Inside the lid, the green straw taps against the sides with the jerky movement of her arm. Admittedly, the noxious mixture has her feeling sort of queasy.

Kate walks beside her, reaching out every time she stumbles. 

“We probably shouldn’t make this a habit.” She comments lightly, tugging at a loose thread on the hem of her cardigan. Her other hand holds the plastic bag, Thank You Thank You Thank You on one side, 7-Eleven’s logo on the other. Kate glances around them, no doubt in fear of security busting their late night soiree. Dana doesn’t know, or care, what time it is.

“Probably not,” She agrees, jumping off when there’s no more curb to balance on. “but I wouldn’t be too torn up if it happens again.” She pitches her cup into the trash bin, both of them wincing at the clatter. Fortunately, the campus is asleep. Security is slacking. They hurry ahead, neither of them wanting to push their luck.

Dana pointedly ignores the totem on their way to the dorms. 

They stop once they reach the door to Kate’s room. Dana shifts on the spot as she inches open the door, flips on the light. The brightness has Dana squinting. (Kate apologizes, naturally.) So she leaves the door open only a crack. Bright yellow slashes vertically over Kate’s face.

"Thank you, Dana,” She whispers, eyes dark and shining. “I think I really needed tonight. Maybe more than I knew.” A tiny shrug of her shoulders jostles the bag still clutched in her hand. 

“You know, I’m really glad we started talking again.” Her hand ghosts on Kate’s elbow before letting it drop to her side. 

“Me too. Now please go to bed.” 

“Good night, Kate.” 

She flashes a smile before closing her door. Dana idles by it for a beat before heading back to her own room. She flops onto her bed, not bothering to remove her jacket. The sandals on her feet slip off by their own accord, gravity more than happy to lend a hand. Despite the faint buzz that remains from half a litre of questionable slurpee, sleep comes easily to her.


End file.
